Untitled
by The Nacho
Summary: For as long as we existed, we've relied on logic and what is around us. But what if... our imagination is all it took?
1. Chapter 1

**I disclaim any rights to Xiaolin Showdown. Thank you and please enjoy my story.**

"Wait, so you're telling me not only was I right about who you are but that you want a certain Shen Gong Wu?"

Whoops, this is skipping way far ahead! May it'd be better if we start at the beginning of this mess...

"Did you hear that Mrs. Dalsen had her baby?" A student squeals as she walks down the hall.

"Yeah, and have you seen the substitute? He is GORGEOUS!" The girl next to her replies excitedly.

Gagging silently behind them, I shake my head. What is wrong with most girls? They've got to be really narrow minded to be so engrossed about a substitute teacher.

"What's the big deal about a substitute? We've been expecting one forever." I note hotly, having enough of hearing this jibber jabber.

"No one asked you." The first girl snaps nastily, beginning to flop down the staircase with those sandals of hers.

I turn the corner, almost laughing to myself. She couldn't think of an insult, I know it's not too bad to be me! Well, besides the flabby body and hideous exterior. I open the door to my fifth hour, American History. When I see the teacher, I had to give a double take to make sure that it just wasn't just my imagination.

His dark hair with a green undertone, long and flowing like a pony. And his entire facial structure makes him look exactly like him. You know that one villain, that one that I'd watched for much of my childhood and would yell at him through the television because how he had so very much unsettled my very soul.

I settle myself into my assigned desk, pulling my notebook from my bag to flip through past works. Mostly concept art, character designs, one panel comics, and doodles. But there one piece not of notebook paper that I have been working on diligently whenever possible. I can never finish it, somehow it always feels like it's missing the passion you put into it...

Students carrel into the classroom right before the bing of class coming to a start.

"Your Current Events have been written up on the white board." The teacher says indifferently, continuing writing. The door opens again, our second teacher has arrived. I give her a grin as she passes me to talk with the substitute, I would try to listen in.

Afterwords, we are all given a reading assignment for the class period. Of course most of the students had left their hefty textbooks within their lockers. The ones whom had their locker near enough were allowed to go retrieve it.

I, luckily were not one of them. I mindlessly sketch a circle, and hesitantly try to add a jaw. This looks pretty masculine for any of my own characters... Let's do some fan art today, that'll help out!

A textbook is set on my desk, I look up into the annoyed face of a, "Mr. Wong."

"Get to work." He commands plainly, drifting back to his desk.

Behind his back I smirk rebelliously, continuing the draft. How about that Spicer character, he's a guy but still easy enough to draw his anatomy. Alright, so he has a widow's peak and rounded European eyes. Give him a mischievous expression and a pudding cup. Let's call it, "Jack Spicer plots to steal your Wu." Sign it too...

With an attention grabbing clearing of the throat, I jerk back into reality.

"It wasn't me, I swears!" I squeal in hope that it would save my big silly arse. All I get is a pair of raised brows as he nonchalantly scans over the drawing.

"Do you care about graduating?" He questions forcefully, likely his method of keeping kids in line.

"I've passed every test in History class, never studied for any of them." Flies from my mouth thoughtlessly.

With the binging of dismissal, I snatch up my things and run out before I can be asked to stay after class.


	2. Chapter 2

"Guys, you have to believe me! This teacher IS Chase Young!" I urge pleadingly, collapsing onto the furniture in the airy space of the Commons. I give out a frustrated groan, _Of course they're not going to believe me. It would be against human nature to believe the impossible, maybe someone else will believe me._  
As the group chatters away about their small lives, my thoughts become a never ending torrent of waves. I keep my life somewhat normal by not eating any lunch, there isn't a doubt in my mind that what the school feeds us is a health hazard. The ending of lunch quickly occurs, as does most of the day.  
Until Basic Drawing, eighth hour.  
"_Becca_!" I raspily whisper to my Freshman minion, who sat right across from me.  
"Hm?" She responds with an inquisitive groan, shifting her bright eyes to my face.  
"Chase Young is in the school. I have no idea what he's after but it **definitely** isn't going to be for creating world peace. He's posing as a substitute teacher!"  
Her brows shoot up at this news, gawking at me. "A nightmare come true, this is!" Becca exclaims, her lulling tone remaining in her voice.  
"Will you help me stop his evil plans, Becca?" I ask desperately, because to take this old lizard down I'm going to need her expertise on the undead.  
The broad grin on her face was what began our resistance.  
Time rapidly passed us as we plot a simple strategy consisting of a distracter and an infiltrator. The final bell binged hollowly, both of us sprint from our chairs eagerly. After a quick trip to Becca's locker and two quick calls to the parents, our plan was in motion.  
As she lures Chase from the room, I slink from the opposite side of the hall and slip in soundlessly.  
No students inside, good... Nosing through several piles of papers, I find absolutely nothing. He logged out of the computer, typical. At least I can be happy that this isn't very convenient.  
My head turns over to the door just as our plan falls apart. The rage in his eyes when he saw me almost made me want to jump out of the window. Becca gives me an apologetic look, appearing quite shaken.  
"Oh! There you are, Mr. Wong. I wanted to ask you something about the lesson today." Is exactly what spews from my mouth, I applauded my own quick thinking.  
The dark haired man suddenly washed over a cool temper again, likely scheming my demise. He manages to glue on a very creepy and forced smile onto his face. "... What exactly were you confused about, pupil?"  
"Well, isn't the section about Rosa Parks inaccurate? I mean, she was part of a Civil Rights organization and was trying to get publicity for the cause. It took her five different tries to get herself arrested, right?" I shuffle my feet akwardly, suddenly feeling quite warm because of his ridiculous and unblinking STARE.  
"You shouldn't be surprised that America glorifies historic events." He says simply, shooing us off.  
I dart out of that room with Becca in tow, not daring to stop until we turned, ran up the hall and turned again.  
"Did you find anything?" Becca manages to pant out, staring at me hopefully.  
"Not a thing, why'd he come back?" I huff out as well, my lungs not conditioned for this sort of torture.  
"I don't know, I was leading him and all of a sudden he turned around and rushed back. I tried to stop him, I swear!" Frowning lightly, she tucks her short hair behind her ear.  
Saying good bye, both of us went our separate ways and promised to think of an alternative plan.

At home, my thoughts brew and fester for several long hours before I decided to put an end to it. Slamming down a stack of blank paper and clicking my mechanical pen, I tirelessly work to accomplish some sort of progress for my art.  
"UGH!" I roar after the seventeenth attempt to draw, crumpling it up and tossing it aside in frustration.  
"It's always missing that certain THING. That special spark of life..." I grumble, my head drooping in despair to stare down at the floor.  
But all of a sudden, a mysterious weight appears in my hand. Cool and metallic feeling, small smooth bumps along the cylinder might be gemstones, carvings felt around it as well. At the very end was a plume erupting from the object. My dark gaze shifts into my hand, gawking at the sight of it.  
This inkwell pen I hold is crafted out of gold, the gems embedded into it a iridescent rainbow of colors. The engravements glowing with a luminescent life of it's own. The feather was what a phoenix's might look like if it weren't aflame, full with warm, vibrant colors.  
All I that I want right now is to draw until my hands fall off. Ever so carefully, my meaty hands roughly sketch a lanky feline stalking about during a dark night. The ink glows with a brilliant light, the drawing emerging from the paper and pouncing onto my mattress. It shined bright just as the ink, a lively grin on the cat's face.  
I did the one thing a person could ever do at a time like this...  
panic.


	3. Chapter 3

Among the massive clutter of my miserable childhood possessions, I tirelessly pace with a over worked mind running with adrenaline.

Is it a Shen Gong Wu? This doesn't seem to be the type of thing Dashi would make, he was a practical joker, not an artist. But how could have this gotten here? Unless... Unless it wasn't completely fiction. What if it was all real this whole time?

The cat lets out a musical purr, it's tail flicking impatiently as if it were in a bit of a rush and had places to be. Letting out a frightened yip as my thoughts had been interrupted, the focus of my attention quickly shifting over to the illuminating cat that remained poised on the metal framework of the unmade bed. Maybe it's a talking cat, perhaps it can explain everything and have a charming British accent. It doesn't hurt to ask...

"Can you talk? If so, it'd be lovely if you could explain this very frightening yet extraordinary situation. Do you have a charming accent and will you be some sort of side kick from now on?" My face becomes warm with embarrassment, feeling like quite the idiot to be talking to a cat. Though I really hope it won't be my side kick, I'm not much of a cat person-

"I can if you want me to be, all you have to do is think of it." The cat replies with a faint echoing with every word it uses. Wow, it even has the accent! No wonder Chase is after it this thing.

"So if I can imagine it, I can make it exist using this here pen?" I ask, my voice lively with excitement and curiosity. Without a moment's pause I attempt to gain more knowledge, "Couldn't just anyone use this if I can?"

With a soft chuckle, the creature bounds from the black metal frame onto the worn antique dresser on the other side of the small dinky room. "What is created from The Muse are spellbound not to speak of its secrets, nor of the artisan of the item. One must discover the properties of Muse alone, and follow its code of moral. If these rules are broken, it will find more responsible and passionate creature to give it use." It explains loftily, a wispy purr echoing within the confines of the room.  
I open my mouth in hopes to ask more, but the entity decomposes into threads of luminescent smoke. That wasn't very helpful... But of course, I don't like my hand being held through puzzles anyways. Eyeballing the room disheveled room slowly once more, I pick up my notebook and stare down at the artwork. It had remained a liquid golden color, though no longer glowing with life. Closing the lined pages and shoving it back into a well used messenger bag and dragging it all over next to the serene blue wall. Crawling into invitingly comfortable comforters, my eyes close unwillingly. If this is what Chase is after, then the monks will be coming for it soon too...

Morning light shimmers through the dusty plastic blinds as I stretch myself out from a curled sleeping form, groping for my phone and squinting at the early time of six forty five. Throwing my heavy sweater on along with pushing a pair of thick glasses onto my face, small socked feet slip into a slim pair of shoes. I heave the strap of my bag onto my shoulder and hop my way down the carpeted stairs to pop a orange and white capsule into my mouth after I stroll into the kitchen for water.  
The ride to school was silent, immediately after arrival I hurry through the nearly empty halls to Biology class. Plopping into my seat, I slap my half filled notebook onto the likely filthy desk. Would it be worse to dangle the thing in front of his nose and gloat about it for the laughs or to keep it hidden away like some pack rat until it's discovered? If I could get the monks to at least fake the retrieval of the object there might be a chance for it's safety. I couldn't ever trust them to keep it in their vault, Jack would pluck it out right from under them... How desperate are the Heylin? Would they attempt to kill a human who hasn't anything to do with their war? Damn, right now it'd be a great time to have some mystical conscious that could give me a second opinion... But man, how great would it be to rub this into Chase Young's face? Maybe if he knew I have it, he might underestimate what little I can do with this thing. Flawless...

I yank a purple gel pen from my bag, a sinister snark escaping my unused voice as I scribble. 


End file.
